Bella Fortuna

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Stop apologizing so much to me, Stefano. If you hadn’t noticed, I was enjoying myself.”

  Stefano gives me a sheepish smile that lends him an attractive boyish glow. We continue our stroll. We walk with our arms wrapped around each other’s backs.

  “If it’s anyone that should be apologizing it should be me. I’m sorry that I lost it and cried.”

  “Nonsense! Anytime you need to, just go ahead.”

  “Thank you. But I’ll try not to take you up on your offer.”

  Stefano snaps his fingers and cries out, “Demmm!” Of course, he means “Damn,” but his pronunciation is off.

  “You know I’m just hoping to get more kisses like the one we just shared so I will encourage you to cry as much as possible.”

  “You’re terrible.” But I’m laughing.

  The effects of that mind-blowing kiss are still with me. If our kisses are that explosive, what sparks will be set off when we make love? Suddenly, a dull ache forms at the pit of my abdomen. My head feels woozy. I look at Stefano. He seems to be somewhere else as well. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? I know that if I decide I’m ready, I will have to give him the green light.

  But am I really ready? In a week, I will never see this man again. Sadness surrounds me at the thought of not seeing Stefano every day. A voice inside my head urges me on, Sleep with him. Just do it. But I can’t just sleep with him and then leave as if it never happened. I’m a fool. It’s too late. I’m in love with this man. And I’m the fool who fell in love with a man in another country whom I’ll never see again. Maybe it’s just the romance one can’t escape in Venice. When my plane lands at JFK, I’ll realize this was all just a fling in one of the most romantic cities in the world. My feelings for Stefano are nothing more than a crush. But it’s not a crush. I can’t lie to myself. And then I decide to just take the plunge. No more analyzing. Just do as the Italians do—live la dolce vita.

  “Stefano, I’m feeling a little tired. Can you please escort me back to my hotel room?”

  Stefano looks at me with a questioning look.

  “Of course. I should head back home, too, and see if I can get some sleep before my tour this evening.”

  “You can take your siesta in my room.”

  My gaze locks on to Stefano’s. Understanding reaches his eyes. He licks his lips and swallows hard, and then glances away.

  “That’s nice of you, but it’s really no trouble for me to go back to Cannaregio.”

  I stop walking and take hold of Stefano’s hands. “Stefano, I want you to stay with me. We don’t have to sleep.”

  I smile and reach over and kiss him lightly on his lips. He’s too stunned to return the kiss.

  “Let’s go before we miss the vaporetto.” I lead him away.

  “You are sure?”

  “Cento percento.”

  Stefano is waiting for me to join him on the terrace of my hotel room. He’s seated at the tiny café-style table, enjoying a shot of Sambuca. We bought a bottle before coming up to my room—no doubt to calm our nerves. Why is it that you’re always nervous before the first time you make love to someone?

  Yesterday I had the whole afternoon to myself since Stefano was busy working. So I decided to finally set out to Burano to buy some lace. Stefano had warned me that since lace makers were now rare in Burano, it would be difficult to find authentic Burano lace. And even if I did find it, the lace would be very expensive. Despite his warnings, I decided to go anyway, and I’m glad I did.

  The lagoon island was absolutely charming with its brightly colored houses, rows of stalls selling linen and lace, and open-air trattorias serving fish caught by Burano’s many fishermen. The beautiful lace negligee I bought was worth the trip alone. At first, I resisted buying it, knowing what would happen if I did. For the teddy was too exquisite not to be worn—or seen. I didn’t care that it wasn’t made out of original Burano lace, and I doubted Stefano would care. I guess a part of me knew that I could not leave Venice without making love to this extraordinary man.

  “Are you okay, Valentina?”

  Stefano calls out to me from the terrace.

  “Yes. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long. I will be out in a minute.”

  I gently pull the negligee over my body, being extra careful not to snag the lace. I just hope Stefano will exert some restraint and not tear it off me. I tiptoe over to the terrace. Stefano is deep in thought and doesn’t hear me approach.

  “Want to see what I bought at Burano?”

  Stefano turns to look at me. His face looks pensive. I’m about to ask him what’s the matter, but his expression changes as soon as he sees my negligee.

  “So that’s what you were after in Burano. Not some boring lace dollies.”

  “Doilies, honey.”

  “Come here. Don’t waste any time with those nonsense idioms I still can’t grasp even though you’ve been giving me lessons. Why does your language have to be so full of them? Just say things as they are.”

  “A doily isn’t an idiom.”

  “Stop correcting me, and stop keeping me waiting. Come here.”

  I walk into his arms.

  “That’s better.”

  I can see from his face that it truly is better having me in his arms. His eyes lose the heavy droop they’d had a moment ago, and he is smiling from ear to ear now.

  He hugs me and breathes in deeply.

  “Ahhh . . . That’s jasmine in your perfume, isn’t it? I love the scent of jasmines, especially on you.”

  He lowers me onto his lap and plants kisses down the side of my neck.

  “We should go inside. Someone might see us.”

  “It’s dark outside now. Don’t worry, Valentina.”

  I glance across the alleyway. None of the lights are on in the building opposite my hotel, which houses apartments above the street-level shops. I relax against him, enjoying his musky aftershave scent.

  “That’s it, mia bella donna. Just relax.”

  His voice slithers out this last sentence as he snakes his tongue in and out of my ear, teasing my earlobe, then sliding down the length of my neck and back up again. At the same time, his thumb kneads my nipple through the tight lace negligee. Embroidered daisy appliqués cover my erect nipples, and sheer organza reveals the fullness of my breasts. He then uses his left thumb to play with my other nipple so that both of his fingers are now caressing me. I tilt my head, trying to catch his tongue as it slides again toward my earlobe. But Stefano is intent on tormenting me tonight. Finally, I catch his lips and waste no time in sucking his tongue, which tastes like licorice—the delicious Sambuca still lingers. I can stand the torture no longer.

  “Take me, Stefano. Now.”

  Unlike me, Stefano is painfully patient.

  Straddling him, I tug at the waistband of his jeans but freeze when I feel Stefano’s teeth nibbling at my teddy’s spaghetti-thin straps until he manages to grasp them and pull them off my shoulders. My breasts are completely exposed now as Stefano’s tongue works feverishly on my nipples, teasing them until they resemble taut, ripe raisins. Once more I reach for his pants and manage to pull them down low enough to give me access to what I’m searching for. I stroke him slowly at first, encircling my index finger around the fullest part of him. A moan escapes his lips. In one motion, he pulls at the crotch of my teddy, which has three snaps that pop open, giving him full access. Wrapping his large hands fully around my bottom and hips, he squeezes my curves greedily before he positions me above him. Slowly, I lower myself down. We keep our gazes locked, enjoying the myriad expressions of pleasure that play out over our features. When we both can’t seem to take it any longer, he is finally completely inside of me. I throw my head back and softly cry out in ecstasy. Goose bumps explode all over my body.

  Stefano quickly unfastens the last ties that are holding my negligee in place and tosses it on the ground. Then he removes his shirt. His pants have collapsed in a pool around his feet, but it’s too late for him to stand a
nd rid himself completely of them. For we don’t dare break our bodies’ contact as we press tightly against each other, reveling in the way our skin feels. Holding each other tightly, we rock back and forth. A broken leg on the wrought-iron chair we sit on keeps tempo to our rhythm, clanging against the terrace’s terracotta tiles. I reach climax first, moaning deeply into the night, not caring anymore if anyone sees or hears us.

  The Feast of the Redentore does not disappoint, as the Venetians had assured me. The hundreds of lavishly adorned gondolas and boats that have descended upon St. Mark’s Basin take my breath away. The piazza is teeming with throngs of people as we all anxiously wait for the fireworks show to begin.

  Stefano has a friend who rented his boat out to us. I can only imagine how much money Stefano bribed him with to let us have the boat. At first, I thought his friend would be joining us, but Stefano surprised me as we boarded the boat by announcing we’d be alone.

  “So you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  I’ve been wondering for the past few days if Stefano is going to bring up the subject of my leaving.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  Oh, great! He’s going to lay it at my feet. Well, two can play at this game, Signor Lambrusca.

  “Oh, you know, one dreads flying nowadays with all the security checkpoints and delays. I’m trying not to think about it and hoping for the best. I just can’t wait to get it over with.”

  Stefano stares off into the distance to where the pontoons sit in the canal. Fireworks should be starting soon. He looks sad, and suddenly, I feel horrible for playing my little game with him. But I remain silent. I want to say something to take his pain away. I don’t. I’m too afraid.

  “Do you think you will come back to Venice someday?”

  He’s making this hard. Why can’t he just be direct and ask me how I feel about leaving him? After all, that’s what he wants to know. But what do I expect from a macho Italian god? I’m still starstruck by his good looks.

  “Yes, I’m sure I will come back to Venice. I love it here.”

  His eyes light up.

  “So you’ve had a good time? With me?”

  Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Of course I’ve had a good time with you. I can’t thank you enough for the free tours you gave me.”

  The light that was in his eyes a moment ago has been replaced by the hollow look I saw earlier. What’s the matter with me? The guy must think I’ve used him for his services. He probably thinks I’ve used him in bed, too. Oh no! I don’t want him thinking that. But what do I say? And before I can regret it, I quickly blurt out, “I’m going to miss you.”

  He turns his head and looks at me. His eyes are red. Is he or was he about to cry? No, this Adonis-like specimen is too tough to cry.

  “I think I’m going to miss you more, Valentina.”

  Now it’s my turn to be rendered speechless. I search my brain to say something. A loud bang erupts into the air, causing me to jump. The fireworks have begun.

  Stefano places his arms around me and for the next thirty minutes, we remain in awe of the gorgeous spectacle adorning the Venetian sky. I am so enthralled by the magnificent fireworks that I don’t even notice that Stefano has left my side until I feel a gentle tug of my hand. I look down and see Stefano kneeling on the boat.

  “What are you doing down there? Are you feeling all right?”

  I’m shouting as I struggle to keep my voice above the fireworks’ din.

  Stefano shouts back at me, “Valentina! Ti voglio bene! Mi senti? Ti voglio bene tanto! Stai con me! Stai con me per sempre.”

  The noise of the fireworks is deafening, but I’m pretty sure I caught every word. Does he realize what he’s saying? And then he does it. He slides onto my finger an oval-shaped, antique-looking diamond ring that sparkles as bright as the fireworks that are still lighting up the Venetian sky.

  “Did you hear me, Valentina? I said I love you very much. Don’t leave me. Stay with me in Venice forever.”

  22

  Shoelaces and a Smile

  Ithought I knew love when I was with Michael. But now I see how little I truly knew. And though it’s just been three weeks since I’ve met this man, I can’t deny what I’m feeling. I won’t deny it. I’m tired of fighting an emotion that refuses to go away. My family, and Lord knows my neighbors back home, will think I’ve gone absolutely crazy. They’ll say, “This is what the Carello kid has done to her—sent her into the arms of a much older man, an Italian gigolo no less, and made her think she’s in love after only a few weeks.” And I won’t blame them for thinking that way. I would’ve thought the same—until now.

  The love I feel for Stefano makes me want to go out and save the world. Corny, I know. But that’s the only way I can describe it. I want to do more and more for him. Unlike in my relationship with Michael, I have not thought once what Stefano will offer me or do for me. And it’s the same way with Stefano. He showers me with love and is always concerned for my needs.

  After Stefano proposes to me, the fears that I’ve had about loving again vanish. Before I give him my answer, I think for a moment what my life will be like without him in New York. And that’s when the real fear sets in.

  In these short three weeks that I’ve spent with Stefano, he’s become family to me. I feel as if we’ve always known each other. Now I can’t believe he wasn’t in my life prior to us meeting in Venice. So when he pops the question, it’s easy for me to say yes, or si as I answer in Italian.

  Needless to say, I don’t fly back to New York the next day. How can I accept the marriage proposal of the man I love, and then fly thousands of miles away from him? Again, I just can’t bear his absence in my life. Stefano admits to me that my imminent departure is what had weighed so heavily on his mind the night he’d been sitting on my terrace and before he’d proposed. He’d sensed that I felt the same way about him but had wanted to be sure. And he hadn’t wanted to pressure me after all that I’d been through with Michael. He acknowledges that we’re having a whirlwind romance, or as he calls it a “world romance,” but he says it feels so right and he’s never felt this sure of anyone before.

  I call my mother the morning after my proposal to tell her that I’d missed my flight. Though I feel like I’m betraying Stefano, I’m just not ready to break the news of my sudden proposal to her. I want to enjoy my recent engagement at least for a few days before all hell breaks loose.

  “Are you sure everything is okay, Valentina?”

  Ma is yelling into the phone, accustomed to talking this way with her relatives in Sicily even if the party on the other line can hear her.

  “Yes, everything is fine. I’m having such a good time with my new friends here that I decided to stay for another week—or two.”

  The truth is Stefano and I haven’t decided how long I’m staying in Venice before returning to New York. I can hear his words again in my head when he’d proposed, “Stay with me in Venice forever.” Actually, we haven’t discussed much since after returning home from the feast. We’ve stayed up all night, making love and just holding each other. But I know. I’ll be the one staying in Venice. My new life will be here now. And of course when I do eventually return to New York to make plans to ship my belongings to Italy, Stefano will be joining me. As I said earlier, we just can’t picture being apart at all.

  But I need at least a week to decide how to break the news of my engagement to my family. Right now, I just want to enjoy my happiness with Stefano without hearing my mother’s warnings.

  “Have you met someone?”

  Darn! She knows. Why am I surprised? Sometimes I believe my mother possesses some psychic abilities. I decide playing dumb will be my best recourse.

  “Of course I met someone. I told you I’ve met several wonderful friends here.”

  “Valentina DeLuca, stop acting like I am a fool. I might be getting old, but my mind is as sharp as ever. Something is not right. I can se
nse it.”

  I close my eyes and count to ten. God, please give me strength.

  “Everything is fine, Ma. The truth is I’m not ready to return to the shop. This trip has done wonders for me. I just don’t feel rested enough.”

  Please forgive me, God. I will have to risk Ma’s full wrath at discovering her daughter has lied to her—a transgression she can’t stand.

  There’s silence on the other end.

  “Are you still there, Ma?”

  “Si, si. I’m here. Okay, I will leave you alone. When you are ready to tell me what his name is, I will be here waiting. Have a good time. Don’t worry about anything here. The intern is working out well in the shop. I’m thinking of offering her a job when she graduates from school in January.”

  “Really?”

  This doesn’t sound like my mother. She’s always prided herself on keeping the business in the family, especially the seamstress and design work.

  “Yes. We’ve gotten so busy since that article the magazine did on us. I can’t be stubborn and just have your sisters and you handle the sewing. I want to cut back a bit myself. I’m getting too old.”

  Now my curiosity is really piqued. And I suddenly realize why Ma has let me off so easily with my true intentions for staying in Venice. She’s hiding something as well.

  “What’s going on, Ma?”

  “Niente, niente. Like I said, we are just getting too busy. And after so many years, I need a bit of a break. I want to enjoy life before I die. Surely, you can understand that with what you just told me about wanting to stay in Venice longer.”

  Hmmm . . . clever woman. She’s giving me a dose of my own medicine. But I’m not giving up just yet.

  “Ma, this doesn’t sound like you. I can sense you are not leveling with me.”

  “Basta! Just trust your mother.”

  “So something is up! I knew it!”

  “When you are ready to tell me what’s really going on in Venice, maybe I’ll tell you.”

  “Maybe? That’s not fair!”